


For a Heavy Heart

by Nauthir



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, post RE5, the holy trinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nauthir/pseuds/Nauthir
Summary: An intrusion becomes a gift.





	For a Heavy Heart

They say when something still hurts, there’s still a lesson that needs to be learned from it. Total, utter bullshit. It’s still clawing and scratching at you because you’re obsessed. It feeds off of your sleepless nights of chain smoking while staring blankly up at the stars, the only companions you’d dare share your pitiful turmoil with. Off of the endless contemplation that leads you back around 360 no matter which new direction you think you’ve discovered. You go over countless events, analyzing each one to the smallest detail thinking that maybe, _maybe_ , that one gesture you missed is the one that could have changed everything. That one subtle smile, that one uncharacteristic pause of hesitation.

That one phone call they took in private.

Maybe if you had caught it then, you could have changed the course of your life. Maybe you could have escaped with your heart still intact. But no matter what new revelation you think that you’ve made that you think will help you move on this time, your broken heart forces you right back to the beginning. Like you’ve learned nothing new at all. Because you haven’t. And now you’re out of cigarettes.

* * *

 

It was the very definition of cliché. The repetitive and predictable trope that goes hand in hand with destroyed romances and mourning a lost future. The older he got, the less he could stand it himself. And while he’d certainly reflect on the harsh course his life had taken, he always found himself thinking about something else. Someone else. He didn’t even realize he’d been doing it at first and after all, his ex-Captain was the reason why his life had taken such a heinous turn. But if there was one unmistakable characteristic that Chris Redfield shared with Albert Wesker, it was all-consuming obsession.

Jill would offer him a sad silent smile, reserved only for him. The words stopped when the universe brought her back to him. How could he continue to burden her with these gnawing thoughts? After all _he_ had put her through. Still, she gave her quiet support and he wondered if he would have been as good to her as she was to him should she be the one stuck in this twisted affliction.

Often times he wished that they had found each other instead. And they almost had; their connection immediate and familial. But his connection to _him_ was also immediate and so deliciously _devastating_. It wasn’t the soothing companionship he found with Jill. It was relentless, frenzied passion and longing that left him aching with torment and _need_.

The sudden and grotesque end left him emotionally stunned, enabling him to do what he knew was right. Back then there were no tears, no sentiments shared. Not for a relationship like theirs and not for people like them. Chris had survived somehow. Climbed out of the grave dug for him by the one he, ironically, would have died for.

Which leads us to the stock image of a haggard looking man sitting on his modest-sized porch. The only light coming from the shadow in which he resided being the bright red cherry of his cigarette. His thoughts on the one lost. His only auditory companions: the occasional car passing by, splashing through puddles left behind by the evening storm. Muffled strikes of thunder could still be heard in the far distance, probably keeping some other lonely wayward soul company as rain storms often did.

Every time the skies would weep at night, he would reminisce about that one weekend he spent at his then Captain’s. About how it rained non-stop in the now barren wasteland that used to be a thriving city. Wesker had stayed for once and the two spent the entire weekend locked within his home. Chris had felt entirely at peace and content but, as it turns out, the storm had been an omen that he refused to heed. Even now, it was the only place where Chris had genuinely felt like he found _home_. A lingering curse that made him disgusted with himself and hate Wesker even more.

Nostalgia pinged in his chest, sharp and abrupt. Sometimes the vertigo hit so hard that he couldn’t breathe. He flicked his cigarette over the railing (an ugly habit but the neighbors never complained) and ran his hands over his unkempt face. His own internal dialogue insisting that he return inside and _go the fuck to sleep_.

Chris was in the kitchen when he heard the subtle, nearly inaudible creak of the front door opening. He paused in alarm, hand still clutching the glass of water he’d just filled. Instantaneously awake and aware, he quietly set the glass down on a tea towel resting on the counter. He made his way, as hastily as he could while still remaining silent, to the kitchen table where his handgun faithfully resided inside of its holster.

He could sense more than hear the intruder making their way down the hallway, undoubtedly anticipating on catching the apartment’s occupant fast asleep. Outrage at such a cowardly notion spread throughout Chris and he hunched down as he turned the corner leading into the hall.

He could see the dark silhouette of a man standing in his bedroom doorway. The outline of a heavy coat added bulk to his frame, but no tactical gear. He wasn’t even holding a weapon. He turned his head as he seemed to scan the room, revealing the man’s profile of perfectly styled light colored hair. But what caught Chris’ attention were the man’s sunglasses perched upon his flawlessly, straight nose. The dark lenses glinted from the street lamp which cast its gaze through the bedroom window and Chris’ blood ran cold.

He involuntarily held his breath, mind racing for any other explanation for the ghost standing in his apartment. It felt as though his downhearted, relentless thoughts had summoned him.

“I’m impressed,” Wesker’s unmistakable voice with a teasing lilt broke the silence and consequently broke the spell. He casually turned to where Chris had frozen at the end of the hall. “Such the good soldier, always at the ready.”

Chris could hear the grin shaping his words, the silhouette slowly closing the distance between them. He backed away into the living room on instinct, his aim never straying from the ghost. Wesker tilted his head curiously to the side as he studied the actions of the man before him. He tsk’ed and shook his head once.

“You of all people should know that guns don’t have an affect on me, Chris.” He taunted, sounding genuinely amused.

“That’s not entirely true, is it Wesker? I know you can bleed, and I’ve seen you _burn_.” The large brunette found his voice; the sound guttural, both from vocal disuse and tobacco abuse.

Wesker clenched his gloved hands into tight fists and his back straightened even more, giving away how much Chris’ words affected him. The tone of his voice, however, remained constant.

“What’s this? No shouts of denial? No demands to know how I’ve survived? Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why I am even here?”

“It doesn’t matter Wesker. It really doesn’t; the result is the same.” Wesker’s steps seemed to falter upon hearing Chris’ low spirits. “You’re not going to handcuff yourself and let me take you into custody, and you’re not going to let me walk out of here alive. Let’s just get this fucking over with.”

His grip on his handgun tightened. Wesker was right; guns had no affect on him. Was this it then? Was everything always leading to this? How many times would he have to face off against a seemingly immortal tyrant who wore the face of the man he loved? As he had verbally stated, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t hand his life over to Wesker, just as he would never hand himself over to Chris.

“I didn’t come to fight, Chris.” Wesker’s voice was solemn now, a tinge of regret seeping through. Did someone like him even feel things like remorse? He analyzed his outline carefully while Wesker was still, the gloved hands once again relaxed. Chris didn’t respond at first, that sorrowful dulcet and non-threatening posture having a greater affect on him than he would have liked. In an attempt to quell the abhorrent emotion, he lashed out.

“So sneaking into my apartment in the middle of the night is just a social call?” He snarled. “Or maybe you wanted to watch me sleep? Sounds like something a twisted fuck like you would do.”

This is what Chris always did, even when he was working under him. He pressed and pushed to see what he could get away with. To see what would make Wesker’s perfect, impassive mask begin to crack. To suppress how he felt about him.

The tyrant dared to inch closer as Chris spoke and the brunette very abruptly changed his aim from the man’s chest to his head. “Stay the fuck back.”

But he didn’t and Chris didn’t fire his weapon, too caught up in the emerging details of the blonde’s face as he got closer. He hadn’t aged of course, seeming to appear straight from Chris’ dreams and memories. Always so _perfect_. The blonde stopped just a few hairs shy of the barrel of the gun pressing into his forehead.

“...Chris,” he whispered almost woefully, raising a hand to tenderly grasp the brunette’s wrist.

There was something in the way his name spilled from Wesker’s lips that pushed him further into his daze. The gentle contact to his wrist sending hypnotizing tingles down the back of his head and neck. Unable to think much about it, he allowed his hand to be lowered, caught in the stare of the red eyes that were glowing subtly behind the dark lenses.

“Chris,” he whispered again, leaning down to ghost his lips against the brunette’s. The light contact nearly too much for either man to bear after all of the time that had passed. The muted fragrance of the blonde’s cologne enchanting him all the while.

He _let_ the gun slip from his grasp, removed from him and carelessly placed on a nearby end table. He let Wesker’s hands slide down to his waist, and he let himself be pulled closer. Whether it was from reliving this intimacy that seemed to be only reserved for his sad memories or by the cold leather gloves Wesker wore, he found himself shivering. The buzz elicited by the blonde’s touch a physically painful reminder of how long it had been since Chris had let anyone touch him. He brought his own hands up and carefully removed the blonde’s sunglasses.

No malice, not even amusement resided within the inhuman eyes. They watched each other for a moment, then a gloved hand came up to tilt Chris’ jaw upward. Their lips met in a slow and cautious kiss. Chris didn’t respond at first, his mind desperately scrambling to catch up to the sensations his body was experiencing. His body won out, thrilled with the hands caressing his sides, the lips covering his.

He grabbed Wesker by his coat and forcefully brought him closer, returning the gentle kiss with violence. He wasn’t sure what part of him decided this was a better course of action but, as all he tasted and felt was Wesker, he wasn’t about to reflect on it in that moment.

Allowing himself to be pulled, Wesker slipped his tongue between Chris’ parting lips, feeling the brunette’s hands begin to swiftly unbutton his coat. Once open, it was shoved down his shoulders and unceremoniously tossed to the floor. The tyrant responded to his frenzy by turning them both and forcing Chris against the closest wall.

His cold gloves slipped under Chris’ shirt, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his lower abdomen as he massaged the brunette’s tongue with his own. A small sound escaped from Chris’ throat, his core tightening at the sensation of cool, smooth leather gliding down his stomach. Ignited by the sound, Wesker jerked back just enough to pull the brunette’s shirt up and over his head. Chris leaned forward as soon as he was able, placing wet open-mouthed kisses along the column of the tyrant’s neck. He sucked gently on a particular spot that he remembered, an inch or so below Wesker’s ear, rewarding him with the sound of the blonde hissing sharply. Chris allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile, savoring the taste of his salty flesh on his tongue. Wesker opened himself up to him, cocking his head to the side and eyes closing to the sensation of Chris’ tongue worshipping his neck.

Smooth leather was gliding on Chris’ lower abdomen again, slipping past the waistband of his pants then tortuously retreating back up. He bit down on Wesker’s neck for being teased and a quiet rumble vibrated from within the blonde’s chest. With hands shaking with impatience, Chris began to work on the button’s of the blonde’s shirt. The action catapulted him back in time to the R.P.D. locker room, where marksman and Captain would often find themselves in this very position.. The memory caused him to instinctively halt and pull back.

Without questioning the abrupt pause, Wesker took advantage of Chris’ hesitation and swiftly forced him to and down the sofa. He jerked the brunette’s pants down his hips, nipping and sucking the skin along his collar bone. He tossed them aside and pulled back, hovering over Chris and taking a much needed moment to visually appreciate the man beneath him. Chris’ cheeks were flushed, eyes wild, and full lips swollen from being assaulted. Dilated, glowing eyes trailed down his defined chest and abdomen before finally landing on Chris’ swollen, wet arousal.

“Wesker,” Chris breathed, a hint of pleading drawing the blonde’s eyes back up. For whatever reason, being on the receiving end of such a hungry and demonic gaze spurred Chris’ own lust on even more.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Wesker responded with quiet awe. He bit the tip of one of his gloves to pull it off, quickly moving onto the next. Chris grasped him by the back of his neck, pulling him down to taste his lips again. A cold hand trailed painfully slow down his heated flesh, inciting a sharp gasp that was swallowed by Wesker’s eager mouth. Finally to Chris’ relief, he wrapped his hand around the brunette’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit and massaging the wetness gathered there around the head. Chris let out a soft groan, pulling away from the kiss to watch Wesker’s calloused hand firmly pump him.

Wesker pressed his temple against Chris’, tongue darting out to trace the shell of his ear. Chris bit his bottom lip, thrusting into hand jerking him. His hands shot up again, attempting to finish unbuttoning Wesker’s shirt. The blonde grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand away, Chris’ eyes shooting up to his with blatant irritation.

“Let me see you,” he muttered, restless desperation tainting his voice.

Holding eye contact with Chris, Wesker tugged at his belt buckle and unfastened his pants. He slipped them down past his pale hips, releasing his own heavy arousal. His lips tugged up into an arrogant grin at the mixture of lust and impatience shining in Chris’ eyes. He languidly rubbed his cock against the brunette’s, biting back a groan as Chris arched his hips up to meet his own.

“Fuck, Wesker,” he gasped, overwhelmed with the intoxicating need for _more_.

Chris forced himself up, violently pulling Wesker’s shirt down his shoulders and tossing it aside. Not missing the blonde’s roguish grin, he shoved him onto his back and proceeded to yank off his shoes then shove down his trousers. Whether Chris chose to ignore the sound of ripping fabric or he was too immersed to hear it at all, Wesker couldn’t tell. Chris followed the movement with his body, placing calculated and teasing kisses from one hip to the next. The tyrant allowed him this small pleasure, knowing fully well that Chris was as eager to taste him as Wesker was to be tasted.

The brunette finally lowered himself, licking the underside of Wekser’s cock in one long, exaggerated sweep. The blonde let out an appreciative moan and Chris held his gaze as he greedily lapped at the wet, swollen head. With eyes fluttering shut, he wrapped his lips around the blonde’s cock and took him into his mouth. Wesker slid his hand into Chris’ hair, relishing in the sensation of the soft, wet heat surrounding him.

Chris bobbed his head at a savoring pace, pausing every so often to massage the sensitive nerves gathered along the head of the blonde’s arousal with his tongue. He had missed this; the taste of Wesker, the feel of him filling his mouth, the groans he was always able to coax from him. He slowly pulled away, meeting Wesker’s eyes again as he slowly released his dick from his mouth.

The blonde’s breathing had picked up and he gave an eager tug to Chris’ hair. He grinned up at Wesker, pushing his thighs apart and settling in between them.

“Does this feel good?” He murmured before leaning forward and sucked gently on his balls before he shifted and his tongue descended to lap at the skin just above his entrance.

“Chris...” The tyrant’s voice came out as a breathy exhale, his eyebrows knitting together in anticipatory pleasure. The brunette hummed upon hearing his name and his tongue drifted lower to caress the puckered flesh. Wesker let his head fall back and rest on the arm of the couch, legs spread before the man that left him to die in flames.

Chris forced his legs further apart, his tongue massaging his entrance in gentle circular motions. The blonde pushed himself down against Chris’ face, roughly tugging his hair in a silent demand for more. The brunette happily obliged, forcing his tongue past the tight ring and as deep as he could. The beautiful sound of Wesker’s heavy breathing reached his ears and he retracted his tongue, sensually lapping around his entrance. He plunged in again and was rewarded with a quiet groan, the tyrant releasing his hold on Chris’ hair to stroke his cock. The brunette pulled away and bit the inside of his thigh hard, watching as Wesker strokes quickened.

He pulled himself up and hovered on top of him, bringing his fingertips up to trace the blonde’s parted lips. The blonde took his fingers into his mouth, twisting his tongue around and between, then sucking while pumping his dick all the while. Chris watched the man below him intently, his own lips parting with lustful wonderment and his own arousal weeping for attention. With his fingers coated in saliva, he pulled his hand away and began to rub Wesker’s still wet entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured darkly and the blonde pushed down against his hand.

“ _Chris_ ,” Wesker warned, the demonic eyes watching with full-blown pupils.

“Do you want me inside of you?” He slowly pushed in one finger and Wesker’s eyes narrowed at the minor discomfort. But Chris smiled, knowing this was always the tyrant’s favorite part. “Do you think you deserve for me to fuck you?” Teasing Wesker this way had always provoked a dangerous flame that left Chris in a state of rapture he’d never been able to duplicate with anyone else.

“I should just leave you like this,” he continued while adding another slick finger. “I don’t think you deserve to come.”

“You’ve never been able to deny me,” Wesker breathlessly taunted, running his free hand up Chris’ defined chest. He languidly circled one of his nipples with his thumb then pinched hard. “Even when you _hate_ me.”

Chris bit his bottom lip as his nipple was tugged on but Wesker’s words didn’t sit well with him.

He grinned cruelly at the man below him as he found what he was looking for and curled his fingers, rhythmically moving them up at quick pace. The tyrant let out a loud moan and his eyes shut in bliss. He looked so fucking gorgeous that Chris nearly kept going. But there was something else he liked to watch more. He slowed down considerably, dragging out his strokes and twisting his fingers inside of him. Wesker pushed back against him to chase after the addictive sensations that Chris offered him.

“Ask me for permission to fuck you,” he demanded loudly, striking at that sweet spot inside of the blonde with force. Those gorgeous golden-red eyes snapped open.

Chris was roughly dislodged and the alarming sound of his coffee table skidding aside filled his ears. He found himself painfully lying on his back on the wooden floors before he could even think to revel in the enraged stare. He was dazed at first, a large man like himself having not been _tossed_ around in years. And then he was being straddled, the tyrant’s wet, heavy cock rubbing against his own. He bit back a groan, fighting against giving in; he wasn’t quite done yet.

He sat up and gripped Wesker by the back of his neck, pulling him down with him. He kissed him hard, all power and no gentleness. The blonde responded in kind, biting down on his swollen bottom lip. Chris moaned and his hand slid from the back of his neck and up into his hair.

“Did you burn for me?” He growled into his ear, taking hold of the blonde locks then squeezing his hand into a fist, tugging hard.

Despite the tingles that shot down his spine from his hair being pulled, Wesker reacted harshly, sneering at the implication hidden behind those words. His hand quickly found its way wrapped around Chris’ neck and he _squeezed_. Yes, he burned for him. For years even before he found himself screaming in agony in lava. But as his strong hand cut down Chris’ blood supply, the brunette’s lips lifted in a small, satisfied smile and he tugged the blonde locks even harder in reciprocation.

This is what he was after. The infernal eyes glowering down at him; all the passion of lust and anger combined focused _only_ on him. That neutral mask cracked wide open.

Chris slapped his free hand harshly on Wesker’s thigh and rolled his hips up forcefully, rubbing their heavy cocks together. The blonde’s eyes fell at half-mast while the red of his irises intensified and his lips parted with quiet gasp. Chris laid there transfixed by the perfect vision on above of him, the lack of blood flow heightening his own agonizing pleasure. He continued to roll his hips, drops of pre-cum from both men landing on his stomach from the force. The sensations were becoming too much for Chris and Wesker seemed to sense this. He loosened his grip around his throat and allowed Chris to suck in air.

“Gods,” he gasped, sweat beginning to glisten on his tanned skin. “Let me fuck you.”

The tyrant hummed deep within his chest as a response and briefly tightened the grip around his throat. He shifted himself forward, tormenting Chris by grinding his ass down on the younger man’s dick.

“Beg,” he snarled, a predatory and disturbing smile stretching over his perfect teeth. The brunette moaned shamelessly as he writhed beneath him. _This_ is what he wanted. _This_ is what only Wesker could give him. He finally released the hold he had on his hair, much to the tyrant’s secret dismay. The blonde hair fell freely, the tousled locks spurring Chris on even more. He gripped at Wesker’s other thigh to hold him in place as he thrust his hips up.

“ _Beg_ ,” he commanded again through grit teeth.

“Wesker… please…!” He hopelessly stared up into the raging crimson watching him. “Please let me fuck you…”

And then Wesker was lifting himself off of Chris, the younger man immediately gripping his weeping cock steady as the blonde began to slowly impale himself upon him. Chris nearly cried out at the relief he finally found within the devouring, tight heat. He watched through half-lidded eyes as an expression mixed between pain and pleasure flitted across Wesker’s immaculate features.

He braced himself above Chris for a moment, allowing himself time to adjust and for the healing abilities the viruses afforded him to ease the discomfort. Chris’gaze fell down to where Wesker’s arousal throbbed and to where their bodies were joined, trembling and aching to immerse himself completely into the man above him.

Wesker’s hand tightened around his throat, raising his grip to force Chris’ jaw up and his eyes back on his own. And then he was _riding_ him and the younger man’s full lips fell open with a soundless cry. His hips drove up of their own volition; animalistic need overriding Chris’ actions. Wesker’s eyes hazed over with his own pleasure as the powerful body beneath him pounded up into him. He released his choke-hold and braced his arm next to Chris’ head. He rested his temple against the brunette’s, grinding down and meeting his thrusts. Chris immediately brought one of his hands up to hold the back of Wesker’s head, bringing them closer together. He shivered at the sound and feeling of the tyrant breathing harshly into his ear and turned his head to place sloppy kisses along his cheek. He answered Wesker’s moans with his own, encouraging him wordlessly.

Wesker pulled away abruptly and leaned back, tilting his hips and slamming down onto Chris. The sound that erupted from his throat telling Chris he had found what he was searching for. He gripped Wesker’s reddened cock and began to jerk him erratically.

“Come on me,” he begged. A request derived both from his fast-approaching climax and the maddening need to see this man shatter before him again. To be the cause of the height of his rapture.

The fiendish eyes were hidden away by tightly shut eyelids and the most delicious sound Chris had ever heard fell from Wesker’s lips. The blonde’s release shot out, hot come splashing on Chris’ chest. Overwhelmed by the tyrant falling apart above him and by the muscles tightening around him, Chris drove up into him at an unforgiving pace. His own release pulled a startled cry from him as he filled Wesker with his seed.

The blonde collapsed on top of his him and Chris immediately brought his arms around him to hold him close, their chests heaving together. He kissed his cheek and darted his tongue out to taste the salty sweat that he was responsible for. They both groaned from over-sensitivity as Chris’ pulled his softening member out and he let his arms slacken their hold. But Wesker did not move away, perfectly content to lay atop the large brunette. Chris nuzzled against the blonde, one hand soothingly rubbing his back.

They rested there for a long moment, both men unwilling to let this moment pass. To have to face the _after_. To face the consequences of this night and the answers that only brought more questions. But the air grew colder and Chris knew they could not live the rest of their lives in this one blissful moment on his living room floor.

Wesker quietly spoke first. “I have a sneaking suspicion that your bed is more comfortable than the floor.”

Chris sighed and let his arms drop from their hold. “You already know where it is.” A breathless chuckle fell from the man above him.

After briefly cleaning themselves up, both men found themselves lying in Chris’ bed. The blonde chose his side without hesitation and made himself quite comfortable under the sheets. Deciding that this night was a gift to relive everything he had missed, Chris wrapped an arm around the tyrant and pulled him to his chest. He was met with no resistance and he smiled, inhaling the scent that reminded him of what it felt like to be home.

* * *

 

He woke to the steady rise of the kettle whistling; his eyes snapping open to find half of his face firmly planted into his pillow. He jolted up into a sitting position, the delicious satiation of his body trying to lull him away from alarm. Glancing around in a quick scan, he was surprised to find well defined indentations beside him in the sheets. It stirred something inside of Chris; the familiarity, the human contact… or perhaps not so human. Regardless, it was more than he had allowed himself in quite sometime. It was unsurprising he made an exception for the man he had always done so for.

The scent of rain subtly seeped through the cracked open bedroom window. Through the crack, he could make out heavy, grey clouds hugging the city’s skyline. There were no sounds of free-falling water droplets, just the fragrance suspended in the atmosphere and the nearly smothering sensation of humidity wrapping its self around Chris’ skin.

On top of his dresser sat stacks of perfectly folded clothes. One quick look told him they were the clothes unceremoniously stripped from their bodies the night before. He stepped out of bed and toward the dresser, suppressing the urge to smile at the neat piles and annoyed with himself for even having to. With a deep, cleansing breath, Chris pulled on a new pair of joggers and slipped through the ajar bedroom door.

The kettle had long since ceased its cry, only to be replaced by the quiet clanging of ceramic mugs. Chris peered over the corner slowly at first, agitated by being forced to act so cautiously in his own home. But the visual waiting on the other side of that corner hit him with surprise.

Wesker had his back to him, slowly filling one of two moss green mugs with the kettle that had served as Chris’ alarm. He was clothed, wearing one of _Chris’_ black undershirts and a pair of _Chris_ ’ joggers. It couldn’t be suppressed this time; his lips acting of their own accord and twitching upward instantly.

A thought struck him and he glanced over into the living room. The coffee table had been moved back into place but what he was looking for was missing. The surface of the end table laid bare; his gun nowhere in sight. He grit his teeth behind tight, closed lips and turned back to Wesker just as he set the kettle down. The man immediately smoothed back the few blonde hairs that dared to fall out of place. It was a habit that Chris had found endearing, way back when.

He actually looked a little… disheveled. Human.

“I’m surprised you actually stuck around this time. Not sure if I like it.” Chris’ voice was cold; he’d learned from the best. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, back straight and feet firmly planted on the wooden floors. His guard firmly in place.

However, Wesker didn’t even spare him so much as a glance, continuing his ministrations to the two mugs. “When did you stop drinking coffee?” He simply asked with genuine curiosity.

“Where’s my _gun_?” Chris countered harshly at the tyrant’s back.

At that, Wesker finally turned around to face him. He made a show of making himself comfortable as he leaned back against the counter, his hands coming up to rest on the edges. “Where it should be,” he teased.

Chris’ tired eyes narrowed, almost too caught up in his swinging emotions that he nearly missed the most obvious change.

Wesker’s eyes were blue. The same blue-grey that looked for him whenever he lost himself in his emotionally charged memories.

Chris’ arms slipped from their defensive hold and his expression quickly changed from one of cold anger to astonishment. Rapidly blinking, he blindly took the bait and strode over to the blonde. He stood in front of him, squinting slightly up into the human eyes and oblivious to the small amused upturn of Wesker’s lips. But they were the devilish gold and red just a few hours prior…

“Your… your eyes,” Chris stated eloquently, unaware of how close he was to the blonde. That was until Wesker brought a hand up, brushing it lightly up his bare arm and then cupping his face. They were still for a peaceful moment as they observed one another. A slight weight settled in Wesker’s palm, telling him that Chris was leaning into his touch. But something snapped inside of Chris and he visibly closed off his open expression, shaking off the trance and stepping back out of reach.

“You’re human,” he stated flatly and his arms came up again to cross intimidatingly over his broad chest. “Which means you’re weak.” He could have phrased it better but Chris was nothing if not a blunt man. And maybe he wanted to twist that proverbial knife a bit into the tyrant who sought godhood.

Wesker’s expression remained blank but there was a minuscule jump in the muscles of his jaw.

“Is that why you’re here?” Chris continued, and though his tone was commanding, there was a strain bleeding through. A quiet disappointment tainting his words. “You’re weak and you don’t have any where else to go, right?”

“It’s true I’m not what I once was,” Wesker deliberately stated. “Or who.” He pushed himself off of the counter. “But I am exactly where I _want_ to be, Chris.” He closed in on the younger man, his hand finding its way to the back of his head and he pressed their foreheads together. After a long moment, he pulled back and stared intently into his eyes. The pupils of his eyes stretched across his irises and a fire was ignited. Chris stared on, captivated by the display. Wesker gifted him with a genuine, albeit somewhat entertained, smile. “And at my worst, I could still put you in the ground _at your best_ ,” he finished matter-of-factly, as though the implication wasn’t offensive in the slightest.

Chris blinked away his wonder and narrowed his eyes up at the tyrant. “What, a volcano doesn’t count?” The grip on the back of his head tightened and Chris made a mental note that Wesker was definitely still sore about that one. Not that he didn’t already know after how riled up he got the previous night. “When are you running off to take over the world _this_ time?”

“I thought we could have breakfast first,” Wesker responded smoothly, nuzzling his nose against Chris’.

The brunette was more than a little caught off guard; Wesker had never been terribly affectionate with him. The moments were sparse and fleeting but stayed with him all the same. To have it in his hands again, and so freely given, was staggering. A slow kiss was placed to his lips and he smiled into it.

“I’ll leave if you ask me to,” he muttered with mock-innocence and Chris almost laughed. Both men knew he wouldn’t. So Chris kissed him again and then gave Wesker the words he was waiting for.

“I want you to stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you're ill and you decide it's better to vomit now instead of dragging it out? That's what writing this felt like. It's not pretty but it needed to come out. Hopefully I've finally gotten these two out of my system and hopefully you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
